


like brightwork

by liodain



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Banter, Facial Shaving, M/M, Nonnies Made Me Do It, Straight Razors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-10-28 22:23:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20786012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liodain/pseuds/liodain
Summary: Rogues and their sharp edges.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Another Fairshaw party? All right!!

It was probably a little late for Flynn to assess everything he knew about Shaw when he was already coming at him with a sharp blade and a face like a wet weekend, but nevertheless, there he was with a razor in one hand and the other on Flynn's injured shoulder, pushing him gracelessly into the chair in his cabin.

He was the Alliance's Spymaster General. Everybody knew that, and Flynn assumed the irony didn't escape him. Most people trusted him but didn't particularly like him, which was pretty much the opposite of how people regarded Flynn, and you know what they say about opposites. Shaw was fastidious and tidy, and over the past week or so, Flynn had become increasingly not. Since he enjoyed working Shaw into a lather at every opportunity, the situation was fair play, really.

"Hold still," Shaw muttered, soap foaming between his palms. 

Taelia liked her stories, which was to say she was pretty hot on kingdom gossip. She said that folk said that for all his neatness, Shaw had dirty hands. He wasn't above unsanctioned wetwork, and word was he'd headed up Stormwind's Assassin's Guild for years, taking care of business when neither the King nor SI:7 were in a diplomatic position to make the call. 

Roofwalker, they called him, throatcutter, though not to his face. Rumour said he saw his best friend killed, for the good of the Alliance. Rumour also said they weren't just friends. Well, Flynn figured he wasn't squeamish.

Thanks for that, Tae, he'd said. Guess I'm hard up in a clinch with no knife to cut the seizing. Bury me at sea if you ever find my body. She'd just laughed at his dubious taste in men.

The blade made its first pass over Flynn's cheek, singing its crisp, sharp song.

Shaw's brow furrowed. He had green eyes; Flynn could tell you that for free. He was close enough to see the spatter of freckles and the pale nick of a scar on his nose, and his absolute focus. His razor kissed Flynn's jaw. 

"Tip your head," Shaw said in his precise way. It was always so tempting to tease him for it, but Flynn probably wouldn't this time. 

His fingers alighted on Flynn's cheek, and Shaw peeled another strip of soap from his face. He rinsed the blade. It flashed like brightwork in the cabin's lanternlight, and in small bites neatened Flynn's moustache and beard. 

"Tip your head," he said again. This time Shaw's thumb pressed into the triangle of soft skin under his chin. Flynn did as he was told and looked at the beams in the ceiling and the lantern that swayed gently with the sea. The razor's edge whispered over his neck, twice, three times. 

And then paused, the corner of its blade pricking the knot of Flynn's throat. He swallowed. 

"You're quiet," Shaw said, and the razor moved again, light and sure over the fast beat of Flynn's pulse. 

"What noise should I be making?" Flynn asked, instead of saying something contentious, such as: how many throats have you cut with this razor, or: did you do this for Edwin, too.

"It was an observation, not a criticism." 

Shaw stroked the line of Flynn's jaw. The shave was so close Flynn could practically feel his fingerprints, but Shaw made a sound of dissatisfaction. He dropped the razor in the basin nonetheless, and Flynn gratefully reached for a towel. He didn't think he could handle any more of Shaw's unwavering attention without his dick hoisting the topsails, and frankly, he'd rather not have to explain himself. 

"Job's a good 'un," he said. 

"Too good." Shaw dried the razor and oiled it, then folded it away. There was a note of consternation to his voice. His fingers went to Flynn's jaw again, turning his face back and forth. "It doesn't suit you."

He seemed genuinely put out. Flynn was delighted. His fresh-shaven skin felt strange and tender when he grinned. "Don't worry. I'll be a sight for sore eyes again before you know it." 

He wiggled his fingers; his arm would be bandaged and slung a while. Azerite and its unpredictably volatility caught him out, though thankfully it wasn't a hold's worth or he wouldn't have had an arm left to be injured. The planet was bleeding out explosively, so it remained to be seen if any of them would survive long enough for him to grow in some decent scruff.

"Hmph," Shaw said, shaking watery soap from his fingers. "I suppose I'll have to put up with it for the meantime."

"I suppose," Flynn said agreeably. He raised his chin, inviting Shaw to lean over him again. "You'll just have to find a different excuse to touch my face. Maybe with fewer knives, eh?"

**


	2. Chapter 2

Shaw set down his pack, dragged his hand over his face, and sighed. A week's worth of beard rasped under his palm. "Come in, why don't you."

His cramped living space on the _Redemption_ wasn't Shaw's favourite place, but after some time reconnoitring the swamps of Nazmir and making camp amid its leeches, biting insects, and blood-frenzied trolls, his small cabin seemed damn near luxurious. It was just a pity Captain Fairwind was currently taking up most of it.

"I am in," Fairwind said. "Blimey, you're looking rough." 

Indelicate, but true. Fairwind had a towel over one shoulder and razor in hand, and was staring at Shaw with something akin to fascination. His own beard had reverted to form; the shave Shaw had given him not long before he'd left was nowhere in evidence. He'd been an open book throughout the occasion, to the point that Shaw was unsurprised that he'd seek it out again, but he hadn't expected him to be quite this eager. A chance to wash first, and perhaps to sleep, would have been optimal.

"I'm tired, Captain," he said. Too tired to be anything but honest. 

"I can tell." Fairwind gestured to Shaw's chair, wedged beside the tiny writing desk that was working overtime as the only flat surface in the cabin. "Sit down, I'll sort you out."

Shaw found himself drawn up short. "I'm sorry?" 

"Think of it as returning a favour."

There was a very specific kind of trouble Fairwind courted him for, but that didn't seem to be on the agenda today. When Fairwind put a hand on each shoulder and made him sit, Shaw was too busy reevaluating his motivations for being here to resist or even be properly indignant. As usual, he came to the conclusion that Fairwind may be bothersome, but his heart was in the right place. 

He ran a hand back through his hair, and grimaced at the grit he found in it.

"All right, then," he said wearily. "Go and find some hot water."

*

There were very few people Shaw would allow to stand in his blind spot with a weapon drawn, and even fewer with him leaning back in a chair and his throat exposed. The fact he was having his face and neck lathered with almost indecent attention was beside the point. Anyone who worked for the highest bidder should be cause for suspicion. Fairwind had proven time and again, whether he meant to or not, that he wasn't as mercenary as he claimed, but a blade flashing in his periphery was not something Shaw had the ability to ignore. 

"I'm not going to slit your throat, Spymaster," Fairwind said with some amusement, and more astuteness than Shaw cared for. He had to know what degree of trust was at work here. "Not deliberately, anyway."

Shaw closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, and didn't flinch at the first touch of the razor to his cheek. "That doesn't reassure me," he said. 

"I don't think anyone could pay me enough."

"Neither reassured, nor convinced."

Fairwind gasped theatrically, and then lapsed into a focused quiet. For a while the only sounds were the crackle of soap as it was sliced away, the swash of the blade being rinsed, the creak of ship noises. He was sure and capable, working in deliberate, even strokes, his fingers drawing Shaw's skin taut or lightly pressing to turn his face to a better angle. 

Shaw could see how this could possibly be relaxing, for some people.

He wasn't uncomfortable with the silence, but the particularity of his immediate circumstances left him waiting for Fairwind's usual commentary. "Your arm," he said, when it didn't come. He suspected Fairwind may have his tongue caught between his teeth in concentration. "It's mended all right?"

Fairwind didn't answer right away, instead guiding the razor over Shaw's chin, navigating the shape of his beard. "Right as rain, thanks," he said, once he'd lifted the blade from his face. He tapped the handle against Shaw's cheekbone. "I'm about to do your neck. Don't panic."

"I won't," Shaw said, then added, "but please pay attention to what you're doing."

"Oh, trust me, I am." Fairwind spanned Shaw's throat with one large hand, rough from handling rope and rigging, and caught unawares, Shaw took a quick, uncontrolled breath. Fairwind paused, the razor resting at the corner of his jaw. "You're a strange one, aren't you," he said with a terrible fondness.

"Captain," Shaw said, a caution he suspected would go unheeded.

Fairwind breathed a laugh and got on task again, leaning over his shoulder to work. The cool metal glided against Shaw's skin and over his heightened pulse. A lock of hair that had escaped Fairwind's tail tickled the side of his face. Finally, Fairwind drew the razor down his neck one last time and set it aside. "There," he said. "Pretty as a picture." 

He curled the ends of Shaw's moustache into shape, then thumbed at the corner of his mouth, his lower lip. Shaw levelled a stern glare at him, but he just grinned back and ignored it entirely in favour of an upside-down kiss. His stubble rasped again Shaw's sensitised skin, a sharp prickle that made the softness of his mouth more bearable.

Shaw sighed, but Fairwind kept kissing him, so Shaw sighed again and kissed him back.

"Well, that was soapy," Fairwind said, wiping at his mouth. "I'll be honest with you, that spoiled it a bit."

"How unfortunate for you," Shaw said, but Fairwind didn't have any further objections when Shaw pulled him down for another.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompts [a close shave](https://fail-fandomanon.dreamwidth.org/362666.html?thread=2112746154#cmt2112746154) and [more shaving](https://fail-fandomanon.dreamwidth.org/370036.html?thread=2161234292#cmt2161234292). Look, I just


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